Like a Virgin
by coldqueen
Summary: AU S1.  Claire and Peter have to deal with her regeneration, and that fact that something keeps coming back that shouldn't.  Noncesty.


Title: Like a Virgin

Characters: Claire Bennet, Peter Petrelli

Rating: M/R for sexual content

Spoilers: S1

Summary: They've tried, again and again, but the damn thing keeps coming back! PWP

A/N: In honor of Pairelove! We are over a 1000 strong. DENY THAT, KRING.

* * *

It was awkward to say the least.

Mohinder was a geneticist, which Claire viewed as sort of a doctor, and Peter was a nurse, but they were friends. All three of them were close friends.

It made things incredibly uncomfortable, but Claire felt they needed an outside opinion. Since Mohinder had been the one to let them know that their "feelings" weren't wrong and that they weren't related, add in the fact that he was the leading expert on their abilities, it seemed only natural to go to him with the issue.

It didn't, however, make explaining this any easier.

Peter tried.

"Okay, um...see most girls lose their virginity without realizing it. You know, they're active in sports or whatnot and they don't even realize it, right? But...uh...Claire..."

Mohinder's eyes widened comically as he started to get a grasp of what Peter was trying to say.

"Oh, you want me to talk to Claire about-" Mohinder spoke slowly, his head tilted to the side as he glanced at Claire (who was struggling not to laugh).

"No!" Peter interrupted quickly. He ran his hands through his newly shorn hair and stood to pace. "Claire...knows about that. It's just...we've got a problem."

Mohinder nodded and folded his hands on his lap. "What's the problem?" He was struggling to be professional.

"Claire's, uh, virginity is the problem," Peter spit out as he paused beside the couch, where Claire had sat silently thus far.

"It keeps coming back," Claire added in a burst of helpfulness. She ran a hand down the lapel of Peter's jacket. He was looking alarmingly red in the face.

Mohinder boggled and asked slowly, "Your virginity keeps coming back?" It took him about a minute to get that sentence out.

"Yes," Claire replied, standing in all her five feet of glory and pushing Peter onto the couch so he'd stop pacing. "Peter and I have noticed it in the last few weeks. It's getting a little irritating."

Mohinder stood and walked into the kitchen, he was suddenly quite parched. When he returned to the living area/study/office Claire was sitting in Peter's lap and whispering in his ear. She'd gotten the uncomfortable man to ease down a bit on the tension and they both looked to Mohinder when he walked back in.

He sat and set the small bottle of water down, pulling a notebook to him and turning to a blank page. "Okay, let's talk about this. Claire and I spoke about something like this a few weeks ago. We were discussing why she "died" and which times it took longer for her to heal." Mohinder wrote out a few thoughts on the matter, including which particular times stuck out in his mind, and finally stopped writing and turned to the couple. "It is my hypothesis that Claire's body can heal almost anything, unless a foreign object is left within the wound. It's why when she was impaled upon the branch she didn't heal immediately; only after it was taken out did she heal." Peter's hands clenched at the mention of this particular incident. Claire had told him everything, absolutely everything, about her attempts to kill herself and the incidents where she died by another's hand. It had taken all the control Peter had not to teleport to Texas and kill the quarterback who'd assaulted her. He could only take pleasure in the knowledge that her father, Mr. Bennet, had extracted a heavy price from the boy.

Peter hunted down and punched Matt Parkman out for shooting her.

"I remember," Claire replied, "I woke up on an autopsy table."

Mohinder nodded and idly tapped his pen against the table as he began to think aloud. "After hearing that, I came to the conclusion that this foreign object rule to Claire's powers is the same reason why Peter almost died when Sylar attacked him with the broken glass. As long as the object is left in, your bodies will not heal. There is no 'sweet spot'. If you were stabbed in the heart and the knife left in, you would stay dead as easily then as if stabbed in the head."

"This is a really morbid conversation. What does this have to do with our problem?" Claire asked as she twisted her fingers into Peter's. He was silent, just listening since he felt he'd done a pretty damn good job of explaining what was going on.

Mohinder snapped out of his thoughts and grinned sheepishly at the both of them. "Well, I have a theory. I think," he coughed, "that if a 'foreign object'," he emphasized those last two words with air quotes using his fingers, "were to be left in a non-fatal wound, that your body might heal around it."

"But you just said-"

"That your body wouldn't heal around it. In the case of fatal wounds, I believe that to be true, however non-fatal wounds are a different matter. If your body_ can_ heal, even with the object still in, I think it will."

Peter suddenly realized what Mohinder was implying.

"You want me to...uh," Peter sucked in a rush of air and almost choked on it,"...for how long?"

Mohinder flushed red and looked away, his mouth opening and closing several times as he thought it over. "It takes her several minutes to heal severe wounds. I believe," he coughed and cleared his throat to buy more time, "that, in this case, it would be safe to...um...I think an hour would be safest."

"An hour?" Claire asked, her eyebrows sky-high and an oddly delighted look on her face.

"With no moving?" Peter asked incredulously.

Mohinder, if possible, turned even redder. He nodded slowly before standing and moving to his desk. "I've things to do, so if there's nothing else..."

Peter stood and reached for Claire's hand. "Nope. See you later, Mo." He was more than ready to be far away from this conversation.

Claire waited until they were almost out the door before turning back with a cheeky grin. "We'll let you know what happens!"

Mohinder stared at the now closed door, scandalized.

Now there was a visual he didn't need.

* * *

"Should we have foreplay?"

Peter choked mid-chew on his dinner and struggled to get it down past the sudden knot in his throat. "Excuse me?"

"When we try what Mo suggested?" Claire clarified as she nonchalantly picked at her salad. She'd suggested they pick up their dinner at the corner deli on the way home from their friend's apartment and was now thankful for doing so. Since Peter had been so uncomfortable discussing the subject with someone else she'd thought it best to broach the nuances alone and in their home.

"Umm...what?" He was still struggling to catch up.

"Remember? At Mohinder's? He suggested that we try-"

"I know what he suggested, Claire!" He was beet red as he said that and Claire fought not to giggle as she watched him. She stood and slid around the table, her hips brushing the edge as she did so. Peter watched her and slid back expectantly. She fit into his lap as if they'd been made for each other.

Peter pressed a kiss against her cheek as she repeated her earlier question. "Should we have foreplay or not?"

Peter tried to frown sternly, but ended up smirking. "If we don't it might be a little uncomfortable for you."

Claire pressed hot kisses against his neck. "Baby, all you have to do is look at me and I'm ready."

Peter licked his lips and looked down at her in anticipation. "Let's do this then."

He stood carefully, his arms under her knees and shoulders until they were away from the table. Then, with a crooked grin, he threw her over his shoulder. She laughed and bit her small of his back teasingly. He stumbled and had to brace himself on the wall to keep from falling. "You keep that up we won't even make it to bed."

"The counter looks good to me."

"For an hour?"

"Oh, well...bed it is, mister!"

She slid down over his shoulder, her golden hair trailing after until her feet hit the mattress. Peter slid his tongue over her smooth stomach, bared by the brief camisole she wore. Claire's fingers slid through his short hair, her senses tingling from the friction.

Peter sucked harshly at her golden skin, a hickey forming quickly. Claire gasped into the dark bedroom; they'd forgotten to turn on the light. Peter took advantage of her distraction to wrap his long fingers around the back of her knees. He pulled her legs out from under her and captured her laugh with his lips when they both fell back upon the bed.

Their clothes disappeared quickly as the heat between them skyrocketed as it always did. Touches grew more fervent, even as they grew more tender. Peter slid over her, his legs between hers, moving upwards until he was positioned at her entrance.

Claire moaned and arched upward, the slight hair on his chest rough against her sensitive skin. Peter swallowed the sounds she made and pushed his way slowly inside, feeling the thin barrier of her hymen stopping his movement. He entwined their fingers and drew her hands up over her head. Claire bit down on his shoulder, knowing already this pain very intimately.

He pushed past the obstacle and Claire squeaked before relaxing around him. It wasn't a large pain, wasn't even that keen. Within seconds it subsided to a slight cramping and she could breathe again.

Peter remained still, however, and breathed heavily into the pillow beside her head. Claire brushed her hands down his tense back and placed tender kisses on his neck.

"This is where it gets hard," Claire whispered as she already started to feel the urge to move.

Peter gritted his teeth and sighed heavily. "It's already hard."

* * *

_Ten minutes later..._

"Are you going to be able to take this, Peter?"

"I'm fine."

"I mean, are you going to be able to stay erect for an hour?"

"I'm fine."

"I'm really not bothered by it. We could just finish this now and forget about it."

"Shut up, Claire."

* * *

_Twenty minutes later..._

"Maybe we should do this later..."

"Now is a fine time, Claire."

"It's just..."

"Just what?"

"Will you fucking move?! You're driving me crazy!"

Peter laughed and his body moved, just a bit, as he did. Claire gasped and arched against him. Orgasm rippled from her core outward and Peter's laughter suddenly choked off as he became awash with the sensations from it. His legs and back stiffened as he lay there, and he levied himself up onto his arms so that he could watch Claire.

She bit her lip and tossed her head from side to side, her hands gripping his forearms with enough force that her nails bit into his skin. When she finally came down, there was a soft haze over her eyes and a satisfied grin on her face.

"Happy now?"

"Delirious."

* * *

_Thirty minutes later..._

"It's been an hour, Peter."

"I don't want to move."

"Why not?" She asked, indignant. They'd switched positions almost ten minutes ago so that she was now on top. At his husky comment she put her hands on her hips and glared down at him.

"I don't know," he admitted, running his hands up her sides to cup her breasts. "Something about this is so..."

"So what?"

"So intimate," he replied as he leaned up to brush a kiss across one of her erect nipples. Claire's head fell back and her hands flew to the back of his head, holding him in place while he lavished wet attention on her. He finally pulled away, falling back against the sheets. "I feel almost like I'm a part of you."

Claire tightened around him, her hands caressing his shoulders as she did. "You are a part of me."

Peter pulled her down to his level, their lips brushing achingly slow and gently. Claire slid back into sitting position and eyed him with clear hunger. She licked her lips and began to rise above him, the friction of being inside her shifting and changing as she slid off of him before plunging back down. Peter groaned and gripped her hips tightly, thrusting up as she came down.

Claire moved faster, going up and down more and more quickly until she was moving in one smooth rhythm, unstopping and unchanging. Small noises jerked from Peter as his over-sensitized flesh was tortured by the movements of his lover. He groaned and he moaned, he gasped and he growled; Claire was slowly driving him wild.

She clenched around him as she rode him, tighter than any fist. Peter flipped them once and they fell off the bed. Claire hit the floor with a thump that jarred the breath from her chest and Peter, who was on top of her, slammed into her with such force that her breath had no chance of returning.

He gripped her legs as he adjusted to kneeling and pulled her hips close. It was uncomfortable for her, with her hips being held so high off the floor but Peter found he couldn't really think of that right now.

He pushed in and felt the reverberations of an orgasm begin inside her. Even as she undulated beneath him he continued to thrust into her. He was rock-solid from an hour of the sensual anguish Mohinder had prescribed for them and had the ability to go all night. Claire realized that and knew it best to end this quickly.

Peter grunted on a particularly hard thrust and Claire moaned as her muscles tightened around him. Her hand slid down her sweat-covered stomach and brushed against the rapidly pumping member sliding in and out of her. With an evil Cheshire grinned she slid past it and wrapped her small fingers around his sac just beneath. Peter moaned into the air as she squeezed to the point of pain.

With a rush of air and the sound of her name at his lips, Peter began to come. He continued to move in and out of her, his seed jetting out and filling Claire in a way nothing ever had.

Peter collapsed on top of her, and despite her great love for this man, she did have to breathe.

She pushed him off until he lay flat beside her and cuddled into his side. She didn't say anything for almost ten minutes, just trying to catch her breath and calm her heart. "So, do you think it worked?"

Peter choked on the laughter in his throat and shrugged. "I've no idea." His heart still hadn't calmed down.

"Maybe we should give it another go and see..."

"Maybe I need a few days recovery..."

* * *

_Three hours later..._

Mohinder let himself into his apartment with a weary sigh. His back was stiff from hours driving the cab and though his mind still raced with ideas and thoughts of a more scientific nature, his exhaustion demanded that he sleep before he did any of his real work.

The light on his answering machine was blinking from its place on his desk and Mohinder's curiosity got the better of him. Since he spent most of his time working on research, driving a cab, or contacting people on his father's list he didn't get many calls. He crossed the room to the machine and pressed play, shrugging out of his jacket as he did so.

"Mohinder, it's...uh...it's Peter. It worked. Bye." The entire message lasted all of ten seconds and it took almost a minute for Mohinder to realize what his friend had said.

Again with the visuals he didn't need.


End file.
